


War-Consort

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: The Travel Collection: Drabbles, Snippets, and Supershorts [59]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, GFY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A woman travels across half of Middle Earth with the goal of capturing a consort. She sets her sights on taking one like no one of her people ever has, a golden-haired Rider of Rohan, and in particular, a prince of their people. It will bring her prestige beyond that of any before her, and spread her name across all of Harad.</p><p>Eomer, on the other hand, is really not so certain of all this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. War Princess

**Author's Note:**

> The story is set in an AU where Theodred lives - how, I don't know, and will not explore here.
> 
> The culture from which Themba comes is made up from whole cloth, though there are elements of real cultures in there. The choice of her being of color, and the choice of the way her culture works were separate decisions, and her name was not chosen until sometime after this rather got longer than the original piece for the prompt. It was a deliberate decision at that point to pull her name from a real language, and which language from which to pull it. There is no intended connection between the culture I have been building for Themba's people, and that of where I pulled it. (Also, considering I use online sources for names, I don't know how accurate their listed meanings, or usage, actually are.)
> 
> Also, not all chapters will be posted in chronological order, as some pieces may be written as part of [The Travel Collection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/439754), and thus ready to post sooner.

All that is missing for her to achieve the rise to the height of rank is for her to take upon herself a raid - alone and unaided - to take a man to sire an heir to her wealth. Without being killed or captured herself, or so damaging the man she could not return with him to her war-band and to her people within the year she must conduct this in.

She travels north past enemies and allies alike, the crimson-and-black banner of her war-band fluttering alongside the white banner of truce. She has a different goal in mind than to simply raid her neighbors as many do for this. Through the dusty plains that are their buffer with Gondor, as close to their borders as she dares to bring her war-band. It will be a true coup to take one of their soldiers or commanders for her war-consort.

A caravan is happy for her assistance as a guard, across the last of the plains where Umbar still thinks it reigns to Pelargir. No one even thinks to question her presence, thinking her just one more simple guard for the merchants that bring the goods of Harad to Gondor. Inside their quarter, it's easy to trade her familiar robes for clothing that is more akin to the local garb, and from there into the city proper to watch the comings and goings.

There are none that catch her attention, none that would present her with a proper challenge - and a challenge she wants, for she must bring him down in a duel rather than by trickery. A war-consort gained without honor is worthless, no matter how impressive.

She takes passage on a ship to Dol Amroth that is carrying a small cargo for the prince of that city. Wedding goods for his daughter and the king of Rohan, she hears from the captain, and in her tiny cabin she smiles to herself. A Rider of Rohan as war-consort will give her prestige above all others, for no one has captured one of the horse-lords in living memory.

That in the jubilant chaos of a city, they might not notice one of their own is missing until she is halfway to Pelargir is a happy accident. She watches them for only a few days before she knows what will be her great victory, the one that will spread her name to the corners of Harad, and indeed, across all of Middle Earth. A laughing golden prince who is at his ease with his men and with his king alike.

The night before the wedding is ideal for such a thing, and she follows him to the tavern where he and the marshals of Rohan take their king to celebrate his last night before he is a wedded man. It is easy enough to pay a whore to ply the prince with ale and to lead him out to an alley where it will be hard for the boisterous men inside the tavern to hear him.

"I think you too drunk for this to be a battle of swords or knives," she says to him after the whore slips past her, and back to the tavern. "I have brought you a stave, if you have familiarity enough with such to fight."

"What?" He stares past her a moment at the departing whore, confusion writ large on his face. "Who are you, and what do you want?" He looks back to her, gaze sharp despite the ale he has drunk. Perhaps he is not too drunk to fight with a bladed weapon, but she does not wish to cause such damage to him, nor for him to think he might kill her in this duel."

"It is a duel, until one of us is disarmed." She tilts one end of the stave she holds to point toward the one she's left leaning against the wall of the alley for him. "Take up the weapon."

"But why?" He frowns at her, not reaching for the stave at all. "Have I done something to offend you, though I do not know you?"

"No. It is simply the way of things, Rider of Rohan. I would have a war-consort, and I would do so with honor. Take up the weapon."

"What do you mean, war-consort?" His expression is still puzzled, and she wonders at the people of the north once more, that they do not have such a concept.

"A consort captured in honorable battle or duel to provide an heir to one's fortune and goods," she explains patiently, amused when his puzzlement becomes insult. "There is no loss of honor to one so taken, if it is done with the proper forms. Weapons, and no intent to kill or maim."

He is silent a moment, a deep frown on his face as he regards her. "How would you think to get me out of Dol Amroth with the gates shut for the night?"

"Bribes." She shrugs, unconcerned. "And a wagon, already procured."

"And if you lose?"

She does not intend to lose, and pauses a moment, watching him as she thinks. "If such happens, then I would be your prisoner. You may do with me as you will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt "Missing".
> 
> Originally posted as part of [The Travel Collection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/439754), in the chapter [All of a Question](http://archiveofourown.org/works/439754/chapters/1680257).


	2. From Dol Amroth to Pelargir

Eomer stares at the woman in front of him, trying to figure out just why she's challenged him to fight - especially on the eve of Theodred's wedding. He doesn't doubt she has a way secured to smuggle him out of Dol Amroth, but he really doesn't fancy jolting out in a wagon, no matter what the outcome of this fight. He doesn't really want to fight at all, but the expression on the woman's dark face suggests he has no real choice in that.

"If I lose, I'll leave with you tomorrow after the wedding," he offers instead of her plan. "On my own horse." Eomer doesn't plan to lose, but he isn't going to miss Theodred's wedding if he has the bad luck to do so.

The woman tilts her chin up a moment, a thoughtful expression on her face. "You will tell no one where you are going, or why you have chosen to do so." There is something significant in that demand, and Eomer hesitates a moment before nodding. She makes no demand for particular treatment if she should lose, and Eomer shifts his weight slightly, studying her again.

His first impression still holds - a woman broad in the shoulder and tall as he, who stands with the leashed grace of a warrior, and who all but vanishes into the shadows between dark clothing and dark skin. Dangerous, perhaps, but still a woman - and while he easily thinks of Eowyn as dangerous with a weapon, he can't find it in himself to consider another woman in the same category as his sister.

"Take up the weapon." She gestures to the stave leaning against the wall with her own. It's as tall as he, and fits nicely in his hands as he settles it. It's not a weapon he's familiar with using, and Eomer wishes he'd had fewer ales before following that whore out into the night - or not followed the whore out at all.

She makes the first strike, a fast strike that Eomer blocks clumsily, the blow jarring him and making him take a step back. He can feel the rush of battle-awareness in the wake, burning away some of the pleasant haze of the ale and focusing him. He blocks the next blow, and the one after, before one hits his knee, making him grunt, and drop back again. It wouldn't have hurt as much if he'd been wearing armor, but he's only in a tunic and trousers, nothing suitable to this skirmish.

Pressing her advantage, his adversary steps forward, aiming a blow for his shoulder, and letting it slide down the stave to scrape harsh over his knuckles. Eomer winces, and shoves forward, using his weight to his advantage only to find himself meeting what feels like a rock. She had set herself for his movement, and Eomer finds himself grappling with her and not finding the advantage he's used to.

A shift makes him push forward, seeking an advantage in what he thinks is a weak spot, only to find the end of her stave at his ankle, making him stumble to catch his balance. Another blow at the back of his knees forces him down, and he can see her turning, knowing her stave is coming for his unprotected back. Pushing off of one knee, he twists, letting himself land on his back that he can block her blow.

Her teeth flash bright in the darkness, and Eomer hears her chuckle. "You fight well, Rider of Rohan."

"My name is Eomer." He scrambles backward, trying to get enough room to climb to his feet. She follows, though doesn't try to strike again until he is on his feet.

"I am called Themba," she replies, lashing out at his right shoulder as soon as he's on his feet, before he has a chance to get the stave up to block. It makes his arm tingle, and his hand go nearly numb, clumsy to grasp his own stave. Themba's next blow is to the stave itself, knocking it from that hand, and Eomer takes a step back, trying to avoid dropping the stave entirely. He doesn't want to lose, though if he does, at least he will not be forced to miss Theodred's wedding - and he's glad Eowyn has been married a year, or he'd worry for his life if he lost.

He distracted enough by his thoughts that he nearly fails to block Themba's next strike, and hisses when she raps the fingers of the hand that's already half-numb. He takes another couple steps back, trying to give himself room to catch his balance and his breath, eyes darting as he watches for Themba's next move. He thinks he can trust she won't use some underhanded trick to win, though he's not entirely confident in that.

Tightening his grip, Eomer strikes out, aiming for where he thinks Themba's knee should be, and she blocks it with a crack of wood on wood. Pushing himself, Eomer tries to stay on the attack, though none of his blows seem to land, and he growls with frustration. The ale had definitely been a bad idea, and now he's paying for it with a duel he's steadily losing - or at least, not winning, which to his mind is the same thing.

A blow to the hip he doesn't block in time makes him grit his teeth against the pain even as he stumbles to one side, reaching out a hand to catch himself on the wall, almost forgetting the terms of the duel. They come back as he feels the next blow connect with his wrist, feeling more than hearing the crack of bone breaking before the stave drops from his grip. Eomer pants, staring wide-eyed at Themba, his hand coming instinctively up to his chest to keep it from being further harmed.

Themba's stave strikes the ground, the butt ringing against the cobbles of the alley, and Eomer grimaces. Eowyn will kill him if she finds out about this. Theodred will probably just cuff him across the back of his head, agreeing to something that will deprive Rohan of one of her better Marshals for an indefinate period of time.

"I will await you at the market that is closest to the Prince's palace. I will expect you no later than the midnight bells." Themba leans over to collect the fallen stave before she walks past him out of the alley. He can watch her progress through the crowded street until she turns a corner, vanishing behind a building.

Eomer groans, shifting so his back is against the wall, and letting his head fall back so he can stare at the narrow strip of night sky he can see. He needs to go find a healer to set his wrist, and bind it, and he needs to explain to Theodred what he's done. At least so much as he can, since he'd promised not to tell anyone where he was going or why. It doesn't mean he cannot tell Theodred he is leaving, or that he has no idea when he might return.

Nor, he thinks, does it prevent him from telling someone about Themba, and hope that will be enough for someone to put the pieces together. Perhaps Aragorn, since his friend has probably traveled more widely than anyone else Eomer knows. And Aragorn can set his wrist, if Eomer promises some part about why he needs that done.

With that in mind, he uses his good hand to push away from the wall, and manages to walk back to the palace without wobbling too badly.

* * *

"You're what?" Theodred isn't certain what his cousin is trying to tell him, though at the moment he can perhaps blame a lot of that on a combination of a hangover from last night and nerves about today. It's been a long road to here, and he's relied on Eomer's help, particularly since he'd been unable to leave Edoras for the last two years and more, just recovering from the wounds and poison that had nearly taken his life.

"Leaving tonight, and I can't say where to or why, or even how long I will be gone." Eomer has an expression the combines frustrated and apologetic in a way that makes Theodred want to rap his head against the wall if it wouldn't hurt more.

"Can you at least tell me when this happened? You were supposed to accompany Lothiriel and me back to Rohan." Eomer was supposed to stand with him when they conducted a second wedding celebration for the people of Rohan. Not be in places unknown. "Did King Elessar insist upon this?" He'll have words with the King of Gondor about stealing both of his cousins if that's the case - and never mind that Eowyn had married the Steward, not the King.

"No." Eomer sighs, running his left hand through his hair in a gesture that looked subtly wrong to Theodred until he realized Eomer usually used his right. Which, when he looked, appeared to be tightly wrapped.

"What happened to your wrist last night?" It had to have been last night, since Eomer hadn't had a broken wrist - hand? not his arm, there is no visible splint - when he helped to drag Theodred out to a tavern.

"It was broken." Eomer looks embarrassed, and Theodred raises an eyebrow.

"Did you pick a fight with Eowyn?"

"Not Eowyn, and I didn't pick the fight."

Theodred sighs, and turns away to pick up the shirt he'd forgotten when Eomer had first said he was leaving. "Who picked the fight?"

"A Southron woman. She brought two staves for it, even." Eomer sounds as embarrassed as he'd looked.

"A Southron? One of the Haradrim?" Theodred frowns, looking over at Eomer once he's pulled his shirt over his head. "I did not think their merchants were skilled with weapons, or even that they left their quarter in Pelargir to come further north."

"I do not know, but I had not even seen one such as her among the dead on the Pelannor. Her skin is as dark as the shadows." Eomer has a frown to match Theodred's. "She is as tall as a man, and as broad, with the grace of a warrior, cousin. I doubt she is a merchant at all."

There is something Eomer is not saying, and Theodred wonders if it is part of what Eomer cannot tell him. It's frustrating to know he will lose his cousin - and he suspects it has something to do with the fight Eomer said the Haradrim chose.

"Why did you even fight her?" Theodred holds out his wrist for Eomer to tie the laces of his shirt cuff, glancing a moment at the position of the sun. He has some time yet to finish preparing before someone comes to fetch him. "Could you have declined to do so?"

"I did not think to do so at the time." Eomer gives Theodred a chagrined smile, and reaches for Theodred's other wrist to lace that cuff as well. "I had thought I should not have had the ale I'd been plied with earlier."

"You drank all the wench brought you without needing convincing," Theodred counters, reaching for the heavily embroidered tunic that goes on next. "She didn't bring you any more than any of the rest of us - indeed, I think she brought you less."

Eomer grimaces, and takes a step back, leaning against the wall next to the door. "I wish she had brought less than she had."

"You think you might have won if you had been less drunk?" Theodred didn't doubt Eomer thought as much, but whether he would have or not is less certain. Theodred doesn't know the Southron that Eomer faced, nor her skill with the weapon she'd chosen. It would have to be quite a bit, he suspects, or she likely would not have chosen them.

"Perhaps." Eomer shrugs. "I would have had a greater chance of doing so, certainly."

"Hmm." Theodred pulls on the tunic, muffling the world for a moment before he tugs it down over his head, unsurprised that Eomer's come back over to help him straighten it. A handsomely-carved belt goes on over, though it feels strange not to have the weight of his sword hanging at his side. His cloak, with the knotwork horse-head clasp to hold it closed, completes the wedding ensemble, and Theodred raises an eyebrow at Eomer in silent question.

"Everything's on right, and you look like a Rider." Eomer grins, and goes over to the box which holds the simple circlet that is the crown of Rohan. He lifts it free, and Theodred ducks his head to allow his cousin to place it on his head. It doesn't feel quite right to wear it to his own wedding, but it will be expected here, and so he will abide by the traditions of Dol Amroth. He'll be able to leave it off after, until he has need of it.

"You will tell Eowyn before you leave." Theodred catches Eomer's gaze, a stern frown on his face. "Or I will let her track you down and drag you back to Rohan by your ear."

Eomer grimaces, remembering a similar threat his sister had made several years before, when he and Theodred had gone on a hunt for raiders who'd been burning farms. "I will, my oath on it."

* * *

The prince is not late, arriving just before the bells for midnight are rung, on a horse whose quality outstrips the one she had been able to purchase here. It is even, she thinks, of the same quality of the horse waiting for her return with her war-band. A stallion, too, and perhaps she might have a good foal out of Eomer's horse as well as an heir sired by Eomer.

"I have paid the gatekeeper well to allow us to leave tonight." She turns her horse toward the gate, waiting for Eomer to fall in behind her, the crowds too heavy as yet to allow them to ride side by side along the road. The gatekeeper is good as the gold she put in his purse, opening a smaller postern to allow them passage from the city, and onto the dark road that will take them south around the mountains that lay between them and Pelargir.

"My sister threatened to follow me when I left." Eomer speaks when the walls of Dol Amroth have dwindled behind them, and they are alone in the night. "She didn't like not knowing where I would be going."

"She will see you again." She slows her horse to allow Eomer to ride beside her, and to not push the horses too hard early in the journey. Until she must stop, she will push on through the nights as well as through the days. It will not do to allow her war-consort to be stolen from her before she has from him what she requires of him. "Two years, perhaps three, I doubt it shall take longer."

Eomer is silent for a long moment. "I was to stand with my cousin for the celebration of his wedding in Rohan. It will fall to my sister's husband now."

"If he is to celebrate his wedding in his own land, what need had he to do so here?" She looks over at Eomer, curious. "Why wed her twice?"

"There are different customs in Dol Amroth and in Rohan." Eomer is watching the road ahead of them rather than looking at her. "And it would be an insult to not conduct a wedding which the people of Rohan have not the ability to attend. It is spring in Rohan, and farmers cannot leave their fields, nor the shepherds their flocks."

"The farmers will be harvesting the grain at home, and bringing their goats and horses to market. The soldiers who have remained at home will be watching for the raids of our neighbors. None will be concerned for what I and my war-band do, save to hope it brings home prestige or wealth." Or both, and a new stud-line for the horses will bring them wealth in the fees of those who seek to breed their mares to their stallions.

"You are not their queen, then." Eomer looks at her curiously, and she flashes him a smile.

"I am one of the clan elders, and a warrior with renown. I have fought in true battles, not merely raids of our neighbors, and I have fought the men of the north. I am the leader of a war-band, and the eldest of my family still living. The only prestige I had not gained before this was the title of War Princess, the height of a warrior's rank."

"And you have now? By defeating me in single combat?" Eomer gives her a skeptical look, his expression easily read on his pale face in the moonlight.

"By taking a war-consort, yes." She shrugs, turning her attention to the road once more. "And I shall be the most honored among those who have taken a war-consort, for none have taken one of Rohan, much less a prince of that land."

"I'm not a prince." Eomer sounds uncomfortable, and she looks over at him a moment. "I am a Marshal of Rohan, but I am not a prince. There are none until Lothiriel bears Theodred a son."

"You are of the royal family, though?" She frowns, not quite sure what to make of Eomer's words. "A son of the royal family would be a prince."

"Perhaps in Harad, but it isn't quite the same in Rohan." Eomer sighs, and she can hear the momentary creak of leather as he shifts in his saddle. "If my cousin had died, I would have been king, yes, but I never was a prince. Just Eomer, son of Eomund. Rider, and later Marshal of the Mark."

She is silent for a long moment, turning that over. "In Rohan, you may not have been a prince, but you are still a son of their royal house, and so you will be known to my people as a prince."

Eomer doesn't respond to that, and they ride in silence until the moon sets, and they have to make camp or risk a broken leg on one of the horses. She will not risk the loss of the potential for stud-fees for a few extra miles, though she makes a cold camp by preference. Fires are for confusing enemies, or for the safety of home.

* * *

"One of you will explain to me where my brother has gone and why. Now." Eowyn has a sweet smile on her face, but Faramir has learned that is when his wife is most to be feared, for she won't stop until she has what she wants.

"South, through the Belfalas, on the road to Linhir."

Aragorn answers easily, waving her and Faramir to join him and Arwen - along with Imrahil, Theodred, and Lothiriel - for breakfast. It is supposed to be Theodred and Lothiriel's wedding breakfast, but when Faramir looks at his cousin, she smiles and shakes her head. It doesn't bother her that a time that should be about her has been taken over by concerns about Eomer.

"With a Haradrim woman?" Theodred knows more about what's going on than Faramir, who only knows that Eomer had upset Eowyn the night before by telling her was leaving, and did not know when he would return.

Aragorn nods. "A Southron, who Haleth described as being dark as the night sky, with a horse that would be better put out to pasture than ridden."

Faramir can see the momentary annoyance on Theodred's face for Aragorn's usurption of one of his Riders, but it doesn't last long. It is more important that they knew something of where Eomer is traveling, and of his companion.

"But why?" Eowyn frowns, her attention focused on Aragorn. Faramir waits a moment before he fills her bowl with porridge, along with his own, and nudges her to remind her that she has more to worry about than her brother. "Why should he leave with a Haradrim?"

"He had fought with her, at her instigation, night before last." Theodred doesn't look at Eowyn when he shares that piece of information, and keeps his attention instead on his plate. "I only found out because I noticed he had his wrist wrapped, as if broken."

"It was not broken, but the bone was cracked." Aragorn did meet Eowyn's gaze, which Faramir is glad for. Eowyn settles a little, and takes a bite of her meal.

"Did he win, or did he lose the fight?" Something is niggling at Faramir, though he's not quite certain what. There are few texts about the Haradrim, and most speak only of them as enemies of Gondor, or as merchants of strange and wondrous things.

"He did not say outright, but when I asked, he did agree that he had lost." Theodred glances at Eowyn, and Faramir is little surprised when he winces, suspecting Eowyn has kicked her cousin under the table. But the answer to his question tugs free a bit of information that might help.

"And she came to him to chose the fight?" Faramir is little surprised when Theodred frowns as he nods. "There is a small book in the archives in Minas Tirith, a translation of a book from Harad, that speaks of a custom of those to the south of those we know as Haradrim. A woman warrior who raids her neighbors, or further afield, to take captive a man who she uses to father a child. It didn't say anything more, but we might ask among the merchants who come from Harad if they know any more of the custom."

"We should take one of father's ships to Pelargir, to arrive sooner than Lord Eomer and the Southron." Lothiriel looks over at Imrahil, who looks put out by her suggestion, though Faramir thinks it's more because he hadn't made the offer himself - or because this would further disrupt the plans for the wedding party to travel from Dol Amroth to Rohan, and change their planned route. Faramir knows either would not suit his uncle well.

"It would allow us to speak with the merchants there from Harad, to find out what we might about why Lord Eomer left with the Southron woman, and perhaps to discover a way we might bring him home sooner." Lothiriel smiles at Eowyn, and Faramir wonders that she's as comfortable with Eowyn now as she hadn't been when he and Eowyn had arrived for the wedding. He has his suspicions as to why, and isn't terribly curious to learn what bonding might have happened when Eowyn had joined other women with Lothiriel the night before the wedding.

"A ship can be ready to sail with the tide, if you wish to pursue this matter now, your majesty, King Theodred." Imrahil includes both Aragorn and Theodred easily, and Theodred hesitates before nodding.

"I shall send Riders ahead to Rohan to make all ready for the change in our road of return." Theodred reaches out to clasp Lothiriel's hand in his own, giving it a momentary squeeze. "I must apologize, Lothiriel, for the delay this will cause."

Lothiriel smiles, and leans over to press a quick kiss to Theodred's cheek. "I shall have time to talk with Eowyn while we sail, and to practice Rohirric more before I must be understood by our people, Theodred. I will endure, that we might discover what has happened with your cousin."

"Messengers shall be sent ahead to Minas Tirith and to Osgiliath to expect the wedding party to come there via the Anduin, and to pass from there along the road through Anorian toward Rohan." Aragorn is likely to send those of Theodred's riders are not to return to Rohan or to travel with those aboard the ship to escort the messengers, to speed their way across Gondor, to arrive in enough time ahead of the wedding party.

With any luck, by taking a ship to Pelargir, they do arrive ahead of Eomer and the Southron woman they still have no name for, as Lothiriel's voiced hope. Or Faramir will need to ride south to search for Eomer, if only to keep Eowyn from doing the same.

* * *

Lothiriel leans against the rail of the ship as they approach Pelargir, watching the city come ever closer. She wishes she were feeling the wind in her hair from riding her horse, already drawing closer to Rohan and her new home. She had spoken true when she said she would endure the delay of her arrival in Rohan for the sake of being certain what has happened with Eomer, but she does not like having to do so.

"How much longer until we can step once more onto dry land?" Eowyn is leaning against Faramir when the two arrive above deck, and Lothiriel knows it's only because they are approaching harbor that Faramir had been able to convince Eowyn to leave their cabin below. Lothiriel thinks it more because Eowyn's pregnant than true sea-sickness, but it had effected her just the same.

"We still have a few hours before they can guide us into a berth." Lothiriel smiles over at Eowyn as the other woman leans on the rail next to her. "You will be better for being where you can see, so long as we remain out of the way of the sailors." The glare from Eowyn is disbelieving, but Lothiriel keeps her smile up in the face of it. "If you are ill, you can simply lean a little over the rail, and it will not even require washing away."

"There is that, at least." Eowyn grimaces, looking toward Pelargir. "Eomer had best not have been through already, or I will geld his horse." It's a threat that Lothiriel has heard Eowyn make more than once in this voyage, and seen Theodred wince when he heard it. Nor had either of them been willing to explain why that was such a disturbing threat; althought, if it is that Eomer's horse has not been put to stud, Lothiriel thinks she can see why such a threat has some true danger behind it.

She doesn't try to draw Eowyn into conversation as they draw into port, and are drawn close with ropes tossed from sailors to shoremen, cinched close to the wharf so they could debark, a messenger sent ahead to the master of the city that they were here and to procure lodging.

"I would appreicate if you would stay with Lothiriel, cousin." Lothiriel is drawn from her thoughts by Theodred's voice, and she smiles to herself when she hears him cajoling Eowyn. She'd learned it isn't as easy as it seems to convince Eowyn to do something, because she'll just wait until the backs of the men are turned to do as she wishes.

"I do not require a keeper, Theodred." Eowyn sounds peevish, and Lothiriel turns, giving Theodred a brilliant smile. It makes him falter with whatever he had intended to say next, to Eowyn's visible amusement, and Lothiriel makes a note to find other ways to disconcert her husband.

"We will be happy to keep each other company, husband. You intend to accompany King Elessar and Faramir to the merchant quarter to find someone who might speak of the custom Faramir mentioned at our wedding breakfast?" Lothiriel loops her arm through Eowyn's, discreetly pinching the inside of her wrist before Eowyn can protest.

"Your father has promised to escort you both safely to lodging." Theodred returns her smile, and reaches out a moment to touch her cheek. "We should return before supper."

"Then we shall see you when we dine." Lothiriel turns her face into Theodred's palm, watching his expression soften a moment. "Go. The sooner you have found what you seek, the sooner you shall return." She smiles again, and watches as he leaves the ship, joining Aragorn and Faramir - the latter of whom gives her and Eowyn a momentary frown of concern before he turns away. "And now, we only have to make sure one man is busily looking elsewhere," Lothiriel murmurs, keeping her smile on her face as she tugs Eowyn toward the plank; an easy enough task when Eowyn wants dearly to be back on dry land.

Eowyn smiles when Lothiriel looks over at her, amused and intrigued. "Theodred won't even think you're planning anything other than remaining where you are sent."

"That is the idea." Lothiriel shrugs, glancing back to see her father talking with the captain of the ship. He'll likely notice if they're not waiting for him, but after they're to the inn, it will be easier to slip out. "Faramir knows better than to assume such a thing, but he was accomplice to some of my adventures when we were small."

"And Prince Imrahil?" Eowyn glances up at the ship, as if to see where Lothiriel's father is. "Will he expect us to remain and wait for him?"

"He will notice if we do not, and he will worry, but I doubt he will be surprised." Lothiriel pauses, tilting her head as she watches her father turn toward them and the wharf. "It may be easier to convince him to accompany us, at least as far as he'll be permitted. The merchant I have in mind has come to Dol Amroth before, and she doesn't allow men into her shop when she is there."

"What sort of merchant?" Eowyn looks curious, and Lothiriel smiles brightly without replying. Imrahil is too close for her to want to speak of it, and though she's fairly certain she doesn't wish for him to know she even is aware of the merchant she has in mind, she wants him worrying even less.

"Do I want to know what you are planning now, Lothiriel?" Imrahil raises an eyebrow as he comes down the plank, joining them on the wharf. He offers his arm for her to take, and Lothiriel waves Eowyn to Imrahil's other side before she takes it. "Or will I regret knowing?"

"You may regret knowing, but I suspect you will fare better if you are aware." Lothiriel lets herself be guided toward the main part of the city, and toward whatever inn the men had agreed would best suit. "I wish to visit a certain merchant while we are here, and you would not be welcome there. Lady Eowyn has agreed to keep me company, and she is well-known to be quite a warrior in her own right, so would be able to keep us both safe."

Imrahil's expression is one that Lothiriel is familiar with, a mix of disconcerted and long-suffering that she's often managed to put there with her adventures. "Do you expect to be there long enough for anyone other than I to miss you?"

"No, but it is possible she may invite us to dine with her, and I would not have you harmed by either my husband or my cousin for allowing myself and Lady Eowyn out of your sight without being aware of where we meant to be." Lothiriel gave him her most winning smile, the one she's put to good use over her life to coax him into allowing her adventures or to forgive her one after.

She can see her father knows he'll regret allowing her to leave on her own, even if she's not truly alone, but after a moment, he nods. "After we have arrived at the inn, so you know where to return after."

* * *

Eomer thinks they would avoid Linhir if it weren't the best place to cross the river without going miles upstream out of their way. As it is, Themba pushes them as fast as she can without appearing to be in a suspicious hurry. They've slept in brief stretches during the dark hours between moonset and dawn, and the warmest hours soon after the sun has passed its height, and otherwise stayed in the saddle - even their meals have been while riding.

"Must we continue at such a pace through all of Gondor?" he asks once they're alone on the road again. "There has been no one following us from Dol Amroth."

Themba looks over at him, her expression still unreadable after the last two days on the road. "None that we have noticed, but I will not be certain of that safety until we are across the Poros, and returned to my war-band."

"Neither my king nor my sister will follow me, nor have me followed - I asked them not to." He hadn't asked outright, but he thinks Theodred would have understood that much - and he knows Eowyn wouldn't have listened to him if he'd asked or told her not to follow.

"Relatives and monarchs alike do not always listen, unless one is unwanted." Themba returns her gaze to the road, her disbelief in his unimportance clear. She's probably right. Eomer hopes, though, that Eowyn at least has been distracted from following him herself.

He bites back any further complaint for the moment, though he does keep a careful eye on his horse, because while he might not be able to bring up any further complaints for his sake, he can for his horse - and when he does insist his horse needs a chance to rest, without saddle or bridle, she allows the stop.

Eomer pulls a couple apples out of his saddlebags after releasing [his horse] to roll on the grass and graze, trusting him not to wander off. Themba hesitates before doing the same, and Eomer knows [his horse] will keep an eye on the mare, and keep her from wandering off if she's so inclined. He tosses one of the apples to her, and she tilts her head in thanks before biting into it. They pass the time in quiet, Eomer half-dozing against a rock jutting out of the hillside.

It's too soon, though, when they move on, reminding him for a moment before he shakes off his doze of the ride to the battle of Pelargir fields. He disperses that thought after a moment, focusing on saddling and bridling his horse once more.

"What held your mind as you woke?" Themba is watching him as they mount their horses, a small frown on her face that Eomer reads as concern.

"Another hard-pushed ride, only to battle and the certainty of death rather than some unknown." Eomer nudges [his horse] into motion, not wanting to talk about it more. Especially if there's a chance Themba had been one of those on the other side who escaped the field after Aragorn arrived.

"The Battle of the Shadow and Light?" Themba nods, turning her head back to watch the road. "There were those who followed the Black Serpent to that battle. Only one of them came home in body. None returned in spirit."

"And you?" Eomer relaxes a little at the implication that she hadn't fought on that field of death.

"There is no honor in following the Black Serpent, and being sacrificed in battle for the glory of Umbar. They do nothing for my people save to slaughter us and enslave us." Themba's voice is rich with scorn, and Eomer's lips twitch in a smile he's trying to hold back. It's surprising to hear a Southron speak against Mordor, and makes this trip a little less daunting.

"Tell me of your people?" he asks, banishing the smile with effort, in favor of a curious expression that Themba studies for a moment before nodding.

Her words paint a picture of a warrior people who hold lands of rich soil and dense forests, of a city of tents and stone that holds the mouths of a massive river where they trade with fishermen and with those who have sought precious metals and gems in the lands across the sea. A place of horses and goats and hunting cats who are as loyal as dogs, where everyone is dark as the night, and those who brought home war-consorts of the pale north are held above all others.

It's also a place of raids and clan fighting clan, where the travel of a war-band so far from home leaves the families of those who have left vulnerable. Where women are as much soldiers as their men, fighting with stave and spear, knife and sword to defend their homes and their families against those who'd raid them and sell them to Umbar and Khand and Mordor.

The stories give Eomer much to think about on the road from Linhir to Pelargir, though once into the city, he has to focus on keeping with Themba, passing through the city toward the merchant quarter, and hoping not to run into anyone who might know him, even if their are only a few of them this far south in Gondor.

A small child comes up to Themba as they pass under the wall that divides the central part of the city from the bright chaos of the merchant quarter, and Themba signals him to follow her to the side where she can dismount. Crouching down to listen to what the child has to tell her, nodding and pressing a coin into the grubby hand that's held out after.

"What is it?" Eomer's expression echoes the frown on Themba's face when she remounts, and nudges her horse toward one of the streets that leads off the main course.

"I am asked to come to Mbali. She will not allow you within her shop, so you shall have to wait within the courtyard with the horses." Themba looks over at him a moment, a hint of amusement in her face. "Her trade is for women alone, as was her mistress's before she was granted her freedom once more and the trade with it."

Eomer isn't sure he wants to know just what this merchant sells, if she sells it solely to women, and nods. "I am willing to do so. Does she have a watering trough for the horses?" And perhaps some feed, since they will not have a chance to graze until they're out of Pelargir.

"She has a stable, and the means to care for the horses. I shall ask that you be allowed to tend to them as needed." Themba falls silent after, leading him through the streets to a house that looks like any other, save that the servants who greet them in the courtyard are all female, and look at Eomer with suspicion. Themba speaks to them quietly, and one of them nods, looking back at Eomer a moment.

"I shall return as soon as I might." Themba leaves him with the horses and the servant who still watches him warily as the others disperse to whatever tasks they have.

"The stables are through here, Eomer of Rohan." The girl speaks Westron with the familiar accent of Gondor - one of Anorian, rather than of the southern parts of Gondor, Eomer would even wager. "You may enter to tend to your horse. I shall take care of the Lady Themba's."

"Thank you." He follows her into the well-lit stables, and takes [his horse] into the stall she indicates, where he takes the chance to remove saddle and bridle, rubbing him down before he goes to ask for hay and water.

* * *

Eowyn watches with barely contained amusement as Lothiriel calmly sits at Theodred's side, eating her dinner while the men discuss their failure to find much about what Southrons might have come through Pelargir, or even the custom Faramir had mentioned in Dol Amroth. Their visit with Mbali had been very informative, and in more than just the information they had sought. She can't repress a smile at the vials of oil she and Lothiriel had each stored in the hired rooms.

"What has you amused, love?" Faramir has looked over at her, and Eowyn smiles just a hint wider, knowing he'll try to wheedle the information out of her, and when he can't, he'll wait for her to show him.

"Nothing of consequence at the moment." Eowyn rests her hand on his thigh under the table for a moment, before returning to her dinner. Waiting for Lothiriel to reveal thier trump card.

Faramir raises an eyebrow, but lets it go for now, turning his attention back to the conversation. There really isn't more they can discuss on it, but they try anyway for a while, until the lure of food silences them.

Lothiriel's gaze meets Eowyn's a moment, and Eowyn makes sure she doesn't have anything in her mouth as Lothiriel spears the next bite on her fork, and speaks as she holds the bite just above her plate.

"If the Lady Themba passes through Pelargir on her return, she will be asked to speak with the lady's merchant Mbali, and told the Queen of Rohan and the Princess of Ithilian would wish to speak to her concerning the hiring of her war-band as an escort from Pelargir to Edoras." Lothiriel takes the bite she's prepared, a serene smile on her face as the men pause, staring at her with surprise.

Actually, Imrahil doesn't look so much surprised as resigned, and Eowyn can see Faramir set his fork down out of the corner of her eye. His hand comes to rest on her thigh under the table, one finger tapping out a wordless inquiry. Eowyn reaches for his hand, squeezing it a moment in affirmation that she knew just what Lothiriel had done, and had planned. After all, she'd been with Lothiriel during the planning.

"Who is Mbali?" Theodred gives Eowyn a wounded look, as if she had neglected her unspoken promise to watch over Lothiriel. She raises her eyebrows in return, to ask if he really thought she'd have stayed behind while Lothiriel went to visit this merchant.

"She is a merchant whose goods are all meant for women." Lothiriel's cheeks have spots of pink, but she doesn't let her expression falter. "She has promised to send a runner to fetch us when the Lady Themba is seen entering the merchant quarter, and has had the message delivered to her. If you wish to accompany us, you shall have to remain outside, as she does not allow men within her home."

There is silence for a moment, and Eowyn grins at the surprise on the men's faces. It's nice to know there is something she can do that they cannot.

"If we cannot enter, than neither can Eomer," Faramir points out, squeezing Eowyn's hand a moment, still holding on. "If Theodred and I were to accompany our wives, we can speak with him while they negotiate with Lady Themba."


	3. Noble Strength

The clouds roll in from the east, dark and threatening and utterly welcome as relief from the heat and dryness of the summer in the southern reaches of Far Harad. Eomer watches until the last minute before ducking into the house that he's come to call home in the year and a half since he'd arrived here. The heavy wooden door thuds into place behind him, and Eomer crosses the stone floor to the chairs in front of the empty hearth, dropping into one with a sigh of frustration.

He should be able to go back north soon, but he's not certain he wants to go - even though he wants to see Rohan again. See snow and feel a truly cold wind against his face. Visit Eowyn on his way through Gondor, and see the nephew she'd written to tell him of. It's not so much, he supposes, that he doesn't want to go, as he wants to be able to come back here. Despite the hot, dry summer and drenchingly wet and entirely too warm winters, despite being brought here as little more than a captive, if a willing one.

The door opens, and Eomer looks over, seeing one of the small children who get underfoot everywhere between the end of the harvest and the end of the worst of the rains - a girl, which means whatever message comes from Themba, or at least he hopes.

"The war-princess calls for you."

Eomer all but bolts from the chair, and ignores the rain outside that soaks him to the skin before he's taken a handful of steps. He follows the girl to the birthing-house, though he's barred from entering it. One of the women guarding the door ducks inside, and Eomer bounces on his toes to keep himself from following her. He smiles when Themba comes out onto the sheltered porch outside, where he's permitted, a tightly-bundled child in her arms.

"A daughter." Themba smiles, bright flash of light against shadow, and Eomer comes closer, looking down at the tiny, wrinkled face. The baby's eyes are closed, asleep after being born, as he vaguely recalls Eowyn doing when he'd first had a chance to see his sister. "What would you name her?"

Blinking, Eomer looks up, his brow furrowed. "I would have thought you would have named her?"

Themba shakes her head. "It is for a father to name his daughter, and a mother to name her son."

Silent for a moment, Eomer looks down at his daughter, reaching out after a moment to stroke the back of one finger against her cheek. "Athelthryd." A reminder of Rohan in this distant land, so even if he cannot stay, she will always have a piece of Rohan for herself. To find her way north and home to race the wind across the Wold, to see Edoras, crowned with Meduseld gleaming gold in the pale northern sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt "Cloud".
> 
> Originally posted as part of [The Travel Collection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/439754), in the chapter [Storms and Sunsets](http://archiveofourown.org/works/439754/chapters/1848918).


	4. Simbelmynë

"What are they called?" Athelthryd touches a careful fingertip to the white flowers that cover the mounds on either side of the road to Edoras. "They're very pretty."

"Simbelmynë." Elfwine shrugs, and tugs on Athelthryd's sleeve, to urge her up the road. "They grow on the graves of the kings."

"Oh." Athelthryd signals her horse to plant his feet, to keep her cousin from dragging her along, looking over the two rows of mounds. Her kin, kin of the father she barely remembers - best remembers in the argument between him and her mother's kin, before he had to leave. Left with her brother, because her mother said boys were more important to northerners than daughters. "Mother never told me father was a prince."

"Uncle Eomer is a Marshall." Elfwine makes a face at her stubbornness, but doesn't try to drag her along again. "He's with my father and King Aragorn in Rhûn. They have to fight the Easterlings again."

Athelthryd snorts, shaking her head. The people of Rhûn are a strange lot, even for northerners. "Just your father?" She nudges her horse into motion, following Elfwine toward Edoras again. "Why isn't your mother with them?"

Elfwine stares at her. "Mother doesn't fight. Even Aunt Eowyn doesn't fight any more, and she's a Shieldmaiden."

"So?" Athelthryd raises an eyebrow at Elfwine. "My mother is still the leader of a war-band, and she has three children and enough wealth and prestige to never again have to go on raids again, if she cared to remain home."

"Women don't fight, not here." Elfwine is staring at her, and Athelthryd rolls her eyes.

"That's stupid. I fight with sword and spear." She pauses, and adds proudly, "And I am old enough to chose companions for a war-band, should I wish to." It is the mark of her becoming an adult, to have the choice of war-band or husband, though she's not decided on who she'd have in a war-band. Certainly not her cousin, if he thinks a woman can't fight.

Elfwine scowls, and looks back at the road, muttering, "My sister will love you."

"Does she fight?" Athelthryd sits up a bit in her saddle, hopeful that there's at least one woman in Edoras who might be different from the others.

"She wants to be a Shieldmaiden like Aunt Eowyn." Elfwine makes a face. "She wants to be able to follow father and Uncle Eomer to war."

"You don't like that?" Athelthryd stares at Elfwine, her stomach roiling as she wonders if her cousin is really so small-minded.

"We can't both go!" Elfwine doesn't take his attention off the road. "If we both go, and I can't keep her safe, and we both die, then father doesn't have an heir. Cynefrith doesn't want to be a king - he likes books a lot, and he spends a lot of time with Uncle Faramir and Aunt Eowyn, and all of Aunt Eowyn's children are Gondorians, and no one would take them as king."

"Why not?"

"They're Gondorian, and they don't know Rohan." Elfwine huffs, and falls silent as they come to the gate, passing under the arch into Edoras. The rest of the ride up to the top of the hill and the hall there is silent, and Athelthryd hopes the rest of her kin aren't so strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted as part of [The Travel Collection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/439754), in the chapter [Garden of Eden](http://archiveofourown.org/works/439754/chapters/2052277).

**Author's Note:**

> **OCs for this story/AU:**
> 
>  
> 
> Themba - a woman of Far Harad who travels north to find a war-consort, and earn herself the title of "War Princess" among her people. She sets her eyes on Eomer (in an AU where Theodred lives and is the one to marry Lothiriel).
> 
> Mbali - a merchant born in Harad, taken as a slave, and sold to a female merchant in Khand. She's raised to take over the business of her mistress, and given her freedom and the business when her mistress desires to retire.
> 
> Athelthryd - Eomer and Themba's daughter, born in Far Harad. Her name means "noble strength".
> 
> \---
> 
>  
> 
> **Edit, November 2016**
> 
>  
> 
> I am currently marking this as a finished work, despite the story being left at obvious loose ends, because to continue this, I need to do some more research to attempt to build the culture around the female lead. While I still do not want to create a culture that reflects one specific real-life culture, I do want to use particular cultures as influence, and my research is lacking at the moment (primarily for ebb of interest in the fandom, but also because limited energy). I am also likely to alter names to distance them somewhat from their parent language and culture.
> 
> However, this does not mean I have any intention of greatly changing the plot, and especially not the concept within the culture of the female lead that to even the odds of a one-on-one fight through intoxication is entirely within the bounds of fair. It might not be acceptable by modern US sensibilities, but I _do not care_. If I receive another complaint about my female lead having "cheated" because she does not abide by the reader's sensibilities, the culture of Gondor, or simply because she isn't a pretty white girl for Éomer, I will either delete it unread, or post it to my tumblr and let other people who have more energy explain why you do not tell the author that their world building violates your code of ethics and therefor is Wrong and Bad.


End file.
